


succulents in spring

by awkwardedgeworth



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"D-Do you want to be my plus one?"</p>
<p>Percy looks up from spraying his succulents to you, wearing flip flops and capris in spring. His laugh lines are more prominent. "What for?"</p>
<p>"...Nico has this fancy dinner thing. Business. Stuff. Suits." You can speak in Latin and about three hundred dead languages yet you can't ask him to go with an event with you. You finish lamely by saying, "There's a garden."</p>
<p>He laughs, barking as you feel heat rush to your cheeks. "Are you asking me out on a date?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	succulents in spring

**Author's Note:**

> written for melissa b/c it's her birthday today!! Happy Birthday you old grandma.

You're tired.

You're somehow damned to be reincarnated over and over even after you die. You don't honestly remember how you know this but after surviving Tartarus once (or maybe thrice if you sit somewhere quiet and try to remember), you start to avoid reflective objects in turn for trudging another step forward, looking towards the now instead of dwelling in the past.

You adjust the lenses on your telescope- birthday present from your father. Saturn is taking an awfully long time to find and your fingers are starting to stiffen in the freezing night air in the countryside, but the stars are calling for you, so you resign yourself to sticking your fingers around your neck for warmth before grumbling about your telescope.

You view on life are like infomercials. It's stupid and idiotic and you want to change the channel right here, right now, but there is no such thing as a remote to fast forward your life. You're lonely in the endless circle and you want it to stop. 

There's more than one reason for being tired. Living past your friends in every lifetime is hard, and sooner than you expect, perhaps after the Mongolians invade China, you start to live alone.

You haven't had contact with another human other than your parents or caregivers in centuries.

The only upside to being reincarnated so many times is knowledge.

You were there when the Western Roman Empire crumbled under weak emperors. You were there when Charlemagne was crowned as the first Holy Roman Emperor, when Arabs conquered Crete, Sicily and Sardinia, when Marco Polo returned from the East. You were a student studying stars in the countryside then, receiving the news from travelers passing by the small town on the cliff you reside. You were a court lady when Confucius started to teach, remember being Joan the Ark and many other strong leaders- Hatsheput, Marie Curie, Amelia Earhart-

You even remember a crown on your head, ruling over one of the greatest empires.

* * *

The first time you met someone who was like you- you whipped out a dagger below your long sleeves into the servant's neck through reflex and stricken surprise.

"L-Lady!"

"Quiet," You demand fiercely, your usual grey eyes more pigmented in this lifetime to a rich brown. It's been a while since you last seen your reflection, but by the heavy, ornate cloth and a population of dark hair and eyes, you surmise that you're somewhere in the East, "How do you know this tongue?"

The court servant swallows, eyes darting to the silver you're pressing against his pulse. You had years- decades and centuries to perfect a weapon. If you really want you can wipe out the guards in the palace by yourself and kill the Emperor, but you're not like that, "I-I don-don't know."

"I don't want to get this kimono dirty, so you'll answer me or the palace will need another servant trained in a fortnight to fill your absence."

The boy swallows, "I don't know how the name Annabeth came to me! Or the tongue I speak but you look familiar-  _feel familiar_."

You glare at him, before taking the dagger away and slipping it back into your pretty silk. The servant collapses near the servant corridor he'd pop out of, surprising you. A book laid nearby, tossed, and you pick it up before frowning when you see a chapter's worth of crinkled pages and a break in the bindings. Another book you have to fix yourself, "And who would you be?" 

"Nico."

"'Nico,'" You repeat. It rings a vague bell in your head- a younger boy with olive skin. You feel like you're missing a part of something, but you squish it underneath you. It would be pointless to think about what had happened in the past when there are too many memories of it, "Is this your first life?"

"Twenty third," The servant dips his head. "This is my first time meeting you, Annabeth-"

"I'm still a Lady and warrior in this life and you will address me as such," You frown. "There is trouble on the horizon and I would rather not die before we retake Kyoto, is that clear?"

Nico bows, short bangs grazing the tip of his eyebrows, "Of course."

When you retire to you room, rubbing the ache in your arms and cleaning the smell of horses off yourself, you dip your body in the baths before falling asleep and waking up to a pair of green eyes burning in your mind and the name-

"-Percy."

Your heart is pounding, and you cannot fathom why.

* * *

The tea in your cup is disappointing and tastes like crushed dreams flavored with depressing adulthood made by a grey worker behind the counter. It reminds you of your failures to rebuilt some of the greatest empires from the dust and the guilt of running away from your destiny- whether you were chosen to save the civilization or not. The tea leaves sinking to the bottom awakens your memory of exotic spices, bright suns, harsh, blocky characters and the color red. 

You let the memories overflow you for a few minutes as the tea cools, playing back scenes of you running around in the library and pulling off scrolls in shelves and your tanned hand reaching for a paintbrush and ink pot, incense swirling around the air with cicadas buzzing in the summer heat. Dust motes danced around you as you absorb more knowledge, to see where you've gone wrong and how to fix it, although recently, you've stopped trying to make everything better and letting things be.

You haven't seen Nico in a few lifetimes either. The last time you saw him was when he perished from the Plague sweeping the continent. You were lucky to reach a city where bathing is encouraged, foolish people or not.

Your thesis lays untouched in front of you, the tie around your neck tight before you run a hand through your short hair- you like to pass as a boy every now and then- before loosening the knot. Your shoulders are broader, legs more muscular and you have less curves, which is a bonus ever since you rammed your hip into a piano and cursed the invention of the female anatomy. You never give birth so what's the point?

Your career in this life is a physicist. Confusing, interesting, and a lot of hard work and formulas you spend half your time arguing with the professors with. You know they're wrong but you can't explain why. You sip your tea as you hope humanity appreciates this in two centuries's time in the future. You don't know how many things you've discovered- and if you were to put them, you'd have endless libraries, maybe more than the stars dotting the sky or the grains of sand on Earth.

Even though you know so many things about the world you don't know your reason to be incarnated. You twirl the pen in your hands before scribbling absent mindedly, playing around with variables as you remember a warm laugh and the nickname  _Seaweed Brain_.

Odd. What an odd name to call someone.

* * *

"Please stop fidgeting," Nico mumbles through a mouthful of pins as you try to stop the nervous twitch in your limbs. You're a writer in this life, "Annabeth!"

Nico is a designer. You're his human body mannequin, "Sorry," You mumble, before feeling the prick of a needle against your skin and you resist the urge to snap your knee up to give the bending designer a bloody and perhaps broken nose, "Why don't you get other people? There's a lot of girls lining up to be at the hand of the best designers."

His dark eyes are twinkling, "The best designers have the best muses, though," He stands up, clapping his hands and standing back as you lower your arms, finger brushing the tulle bunched around your hips. Three mirrors greet you as you critique the dress Nico has created, rich cream color with gold accents against your fair skin.

It's too beautiful for you to wear it.

Nico's smile widens, "Looks good on you, doesn't it? See, grey is not your only color- gold is too! It brings out your hair!"

You glance at the golden strands before shuffling awkwardly forward, stepping around like you're blindfolded with an apple on top. Your skin looks pale, arms too spindly and collarbones sticking out like wedges. Your grimace says it all. "Nico, I really don't-"

"Hush, I know I'm great."

"Nico."

"I'm not going to ask you to model it in front of a camera, Annabeth," He says, playing with the tape measure around his neck before collapsing on the couch nearby, half covered with cloths of different texture and colors. His apartment is swamped with fabrics over chairs, piled on drawers, covering every available surface. It gives the sad room some life, with its patterns and hues, "I think you're starting to forget what beauty is."

"Sakura trees are beautiful," You say, mind immediately going straight to the ones in the Peony Garden of the Imperial Palace with two big koi ponds and small lanterns stringing around the pagoda fourteen lifetimes ago. "Orion's Belt is beautiful if you go to the countryside. Ballet is beautiful. Paris is beautiful." You then point to the Eiffel Tower in the distance, remembering how it looked when you had completed the blue prints in time for the World Expo, " _That_ is beautiful."

"So prideful," Nico quips, waving a lazy hand, "All your buildings are wonderful. Everything you create is wonderful."

"Nico," You warn.

"There's a spider near you."

You grab the nearest object and fling it towards him.

* * *

"I want to leave a mark in this world."

Your gaze at the stars doesn't waver from Nico's comment, "You did. You accomplished a lot of things so far." 

"Not like you... You've done so much to humanity- discovered the elements, radioactivity, modern medicine, architect, physics and laws in the Earth...." The wind plays with your hair. You could have become an astrologist, but the urge to do that never hits you. You like to do this as a hobby, and it's something you link to your predecessors. 

"I think you're pretty great, Nico. You somehow find me every lifetime. I can't even find my shoes in the morning," You don't really understand electricity even though you patented it. Sometimes you're still caught off guard by the flash of traffic lights, dull ringing of land lines, toasters, and the distinctive hum of dial up computers. You wish for simpler times- sitting at twilight with fireflies around you and the scent of the sea nearby, a book and blanket in your lap.

"It's hard, eh?"

"It is," You don't tell him of the times you wake up screaming into the night- wars replayed in your head, of assassinations and blood, always looking behind your back, looking past a corpse and ducking as a land mine blows dirt into the air. You cringed when Wall Street plummeted and saw the economy sink in a night. You remember the Bubble Era, working as a banker before the market plunges down. You remember how vain humans can really be- capable of lying, killing, deceiving, and stabbing everybody behind their backs.

The stars twinkle maddeningly above you.

"I'm tired."

"Of living?"

"Aren't you?"

"...I haven't been alive as long as you have, so I still want to explore some things."

"...Nico?"

"Yea?"

"Let's travel the world."

* * *

You stand in front of the statue of Poseidon, backpack on your shoulders weighed down by souvenirs and sweat dripping down your neck when you see green eyes again.

* * *

You've lost count of how many times you've reincarnated two centuries ago, and this time, you carefully polish your camera lens with a cloth before packing it in its case and standing up. 

The destination on your ticket is home, but you've never knew what a home is. The dictionary says that it's a dwelling where family or social unit gather, where domesticity occurs, where there are suppose to be light kisses on cheeks and Saturday mornings spent sleeping in and Sundays cleaning around the house perhaps with a significant other and a pet or two.

There is so many things you know, but you don't know what beauty and home is. You only know the feeling of something missing, like a truth that will piece together fragments of testimonies or a variable that would fix everything in the formula- a missing number in the blueprint, a misplaced dagger that should be tucked inside your clothes.

You sip your over-steeped tea and wonder if you should add a few packets of sugar when someone sits beside you in the airplane and you're greeted by green eyes.

"Hey," He grins, and you feel your world come to a stop.

He's your age, travelling from Tokyo to your hometown because he needed to step away from university for a gap year. He'll be receiving his license to teach next year, his favorite topic is Biology and he has an army of succulents back at home, you find out when you dig in your bag for aloe vera from the sunburn of an outside shoot earlier that has your arms red.

You idly remember Nico saying how pasty you've gotten, and you silently agree, rubbing the lotion into your skin as your neighbor prattles on about succulents through dinner and desert. It's only when your eyes start to droop that he closes his mouth before making a gesture to tuck your chin under the blanket.

You don't get a wink of sleep.

Your cargo consists of three things- your camera equipment, your laptop and editing software and your actual clothes that are hand me downs from Nico's past designs. There are a few original pieces he never globally manufactured, and you always get the strangest compliments when you wear them. After two and a half centuries of fighting, you have accepted that gold is your color, and you bring out your laptop to edit the photos you took before you hopped on the plane.

The cabin is quiet, filled with light snores and the hum of the engine as you play with the vectors and color of the shot. It's strange to see your works like this now- made for the vain side of humanity instead of the usual formulas and books you write. There's an unattractive-ness only you see in the models who are more bone than body fat who cover themselves in minerals and false hues to bring out the shadow underneath their cheekbones. Vapid. 

You don't know why you're doing this.

Another self existential crisis is not new. You close Photoshop and try to close your eyes to block the ever consuming question of why you never die when your neighbor opens his eyes and whimpers.

"...Afraid of flights?"

"Amazing, she speaks," The humor is concealed by nervousness, and you arch an eyebrow at him as he nervously babbles, "Okay fine so what if I am? Flights were never my thing."

Like the fluid movement of your past life notching an arrow from your back, you respond dully with, "So if I were to buy a succulent, which one should I get?" And like that, your neighbor forgets all about his fears and excitedly brings out a book on  _succulents_ out of his carry on and you wonder how he smiles like that.

When you both pass security, he waves at you, heading towards the other end of the airport, "It was nice meeting you!"

Your mood is somewhat lifted. "It was."

"I'm Percy Jackson!"

"...Annabeth Chase."

Another grin and a crinkled of his eyes, "See you later, Annabeth!"

* * *

"You look tired."

"I am," You say, bringing the sorry excuse of a coffee towards your lips. You're disgusted how this drink can be called coffee when you've been to Columbia,experienced true coffee, and had personally picked beans off a plantation some lifetimes ago but of course Percy wouldn't know that, "I'm surprised you're my new neighbor."

"Same!" He grins, sleeves rolled up as the rain pelts the window beside them. At least the coffee shop is warm, filled with people- interesting people that you want to capture with your lenses. You think of the color wheel when you see him walk into the shop wearing a color that compliments his eyes, "So- I never really gotten to know you on the flight. What are you?"

The word  _immortal_ nearly escapes your lips, "Human," You tease, cheeks lifting into a small smirk as he scowls, "...I'm a photographer." 

He likes your second answer better, bringing a hand to cup his over sweetened drink with blue sprinkles (somehow, he knows the owner of the cafe) that consists of ingredients like soy milk and chai and cocoa powder, shaken not stirred with a whip of cream and two pumps of caramel and a lot of sprinkles.

He's the opposite of you. You are old, ageless, as wise as the universe and he is a child stuck in a man's body, experiencing life through a world of mortals who's lives passes like a burst of flames. There are strangers looking at the two of you- you in your trench coat and boots with him and his sweater and hoodie combination and jeans. Your black coffee is on a spotless saucer, red tinging the rim from your lipstick as he slurps his diabetes concoction without a care in the world. Your hands has caused deaths and the downfall of civilizations and the birth of thousands of ideas and his has lovingly patted fertilizer in his small garden. 

"That's super cool," He answers, and you blink and tell yourself to stop nodding off, "You photograph for a magazine or something?"

"...A personal friend who's my employer," Nico has finally reached world stage in this lifetime. You follow wherever he goes, still being his 'muse' while taking photographs that make the collection printed in magazines. You know more about fabrics and the color theory than the next person who walks into the cafe and how to stitch a rip backstage ten seconds before a model is due to strut on stage. It's a new sensation- fast paced world with alcohol, smoke, fake laughter and a lot of money.

"You've traveled the world, then," Percy says, beckoning a waiter for another cup of early death by sugar overdose before turning his attention back to you, "Must be nice! Which one's your favorite?"

You can list a thousand names but you pluck one, "Bali's really beautiful," That word hasn't slipped past your lips in a long time and you idly wonder if you've grown to understand the meaning of it. "But Uyuni Salt Lake is my favorite."

"Awesome! I went there with my dad last year! We came on a cloudy day and there was a photographer and he shot some pictures of me-" He hurriedly takes out his phone, swiping past the lock screen before tapping the album icon. You vaguely smile at his rushed reactions before sipping your coffee calmly, "-see? Isn't it cool? Oh! There's also this time lapse...."

You check your watch when you return, and found that you only have two hours to rush to the airport before meeting Nico in Milan.

Time seems to fly faster now.

* * *

You somehow manage to stumble back into your apartment, ignoring all the dust that flies into your face when you collapse into your bed. Your head is pounding and you think you never, ever had a headache this bad before. Your head is a textbook definition of confusion and a world of hurt. You smell like old dreams and nostalgia, and you loath the scent- because to be nostalgic is to look back, and you promised yourself that you would only look forward.

 

Your land line shrilly beeps with an incoming call and you consider throwing one of the many photography books at your arsenal before it turns off and Nico walks into your bedroom, looking harassed from the airport and smelling of exotic perfumes.

"Advil," He says, rattling the bottle before you pop the cap open and shake out two, small red pills. Nico hands you a glass of water and watches you unceremoniously slam back into your mattress, before opening the blinds to let the moon filter in.

"...You stink, Nico."

"Says the person who tripped and fell into a mud hole in the Amazon."

"I don't see you trying to balance a heavy camera while standing near the edge of a waterfall. Also, I remember you clearly pissing your pants when I asked you to be my target practice."

"Annabeth. You were throwing  _knives_ at me.  _Knives,_ " He wryly says before going to your sorry excuse of a fridge and pantry before pulling out a can of alphabet soup and a pot,"I'm going to make you some soup- you should really sleep. Palembang is in 46 hours."

You want to fight the exhaustion in your body, but your bed, despite it being dusty, feels comfortable, and you fall asleep, dreaming of strawberry fields and a sunset on a beach you've never explored before.

  

 

"Um. Hi."

"You never told me you have a boyfriend, Annabeth. I'm hurt."

You'd waken up to voices. Plural. More than one, which meant there was someone else in your house other than Nico, and you don't exactly remember having any other friends other than Nico and your loose band of rival photographers and their modeling agencies. You glare at Percy, who's fidgeting on your kitchen bar stool. You definitely need a bath. Your skin feels oily and you don't even want to touch your hair.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well- I saw your living room lights on and thought you came back from whatever country you went to. Then I had a great idea about bringing you Chinese but I didn't realize you have a...roommate? But he invited me in. And here I am," Percy's eyes are nervously flickering to Nico's choice of clothing. If he's blinging out in peacock themed clothes, that is, emeralds, sapphires and a gold wristwatch and a silk scarf around his neck, you're his monochrome shadow.

You turn to Nico, "He's my neighbor," Then to Percy. "This is my employer and long time friend."

You watch them nod at each other, wondering if it's a ritual for males to seize each other by nodding. Nico waves a platter of food towards you and you inhale it. 

"Viva la greasy food."

"Ditto."

Percy watches this exchange with an amused look, corner of his lips quirking up, and you think of sea foam and azumaralachite and the spray of salt in the morning. You and Nico fight over the last spring roll, and he doesn't ask why you hold your chopsticks the way humans did before Marco Polo sailed to the East. It's a lost art, but then again, everything in the world is momentous, and that's why you took up the camera, to capture each fragment before they wither and cease to exist.

Eventually, in the middle of you rubbing your hair dry and changing into a pair of sweats from Disneyland, Percy makes the connection who Nico is, and asks him questions about fashion shows and what it feels to be wanted by every celebrity out there.

Instead, Nico humors him, "They're so thirsty."

You roll your eyes and listen to the sound of Percy laughing, thinking of ambrosia and blistering summers and cool nights with the stars as your playground.

* * *

 

 

You're pulling your suitcase behind you, unlocking the door when Percy pops out of his house, smudge of dirt on his cheeks before he perks up like a dog seeing its owner. "Annabeth!"

Conversation is exchanged as he helps you drag your suitcase in ("Holy shit why is it so heavy?" "Camera equipment, young grasshopper."), before making you pancakes as you lie on your couch, content to lie still as your house becomes alive with the sizzling pan and Percy's humming and the pad of footsteps.

"Here you go."

"Thank you," You watch him nibble on half a pancake before you chew through the fluff and take a moment to thank the person who invented hotcakes, "I apologize for disrupting your day. Were you going somewhere?"

The smudge of dirt on his face still remains and he unabashedly grins at you, "Annabeth, I'm your neighbor, no need to be so uptight with me. I was just going to the store to get some fertilizer."

"It's a habit," You explain, "Habit like how you can't sit still."

If he's caught off guard by you, he doesn't show it, and you look at his hair and the brown strands that gleam in the afternoon sun and the laugh lines when he grins again. A though occurs to you- how he manages to smile so much, doesn't his cheeks hurt? "You're really interesting."

"Thank you?"

"Hey, when's your next flight?" He says, following you to your sink as you grab the soap. 

"Four days," Suspicion lace your tone, and Percy's grin seems too innocent.

"Wanna go somewhere?"

* * *

Nico chokes on his rum. It's the after party of yet another successful Fall Fashion Week by Di Angelo and sponsors and you wrap a band aid on your finger from helping a twiggy model fix a ripping seam, "You went to the shooting range and had sushi with him??"

You grin, "I shot everything precisely. And he had seaweed on the corner of his mouth." You don't tell Nico of how shocked Percy was when you clamped the earmuffs over your ears and proceeded to shoot all the targets no matter how far they went. The owner of the range then asked if you were trained when you were young, and you think of the Battle of Kyoto and how your predecessor shot three arrows at once riding bare back. "Guess millenniums of practice is paying off."

"Unbelievable," Nico mumbles to his alcoholic drink. "So, do you like him or something?"

"...What?"

"...Amazing. Really, truly amazing. You're older than mankind and brought down great empires and founded the birth of knowledge and you don't know what love is, Annabeth?"

"He's mortal. He will die, and we will move on," You simply say, drinking your tequila and playing with the mini umbrella. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Nico frowns, "Are you going to date him, then?"

"...No?"

"Why not?" He hotly demands, and you snatch his empty glass as Nico starts to wave his arms around. "Do you know how depressing it is to see you grey all the time, Annabeth? If you get to live forever, at least you can be happy! You know! Smiling and...HAPPY!"

"You're drunk, Nico, let's go back to your hotel."

"You two are a match in heaven! He can be my muse too! Travel the world with him, Wise Girl! When you get home, you go right to his pretty face and say, 'My name is Annabeth '100% sure immortal being that created every modern thing known to mankind and is more than a gajillion years old' Chase please be my boyfriend!'"

 

* * *

"D-Do you want to be my plus one?" 

Percy looks up from spraying his succulents to you, wearing flip flops and capris in spring. His laugh lines are more prominent. "What for?"

"...Nico has this fancy dinner thing. Business. Stuff. Suits," You can speak in Latin and about three hundred dead languages yet you can't ask him to go with an event with you. You finish lamely by saying, "There's a garden."

He laughs, barking as you feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Are you asking me out on a date?"

" _Do you want to go or not?_ " You hiss between your teeth.

"Yes! Yes! I'll go- stop glaring at me!"

You're immortal. He's mortal. You will continue to live and he will wonder why your eyes always look so sad and lonely, why you stay up at night, head clouded by alcohol as he snoozes away, drooling on your pillow. You talk to the moon, tell it of humanity's greatest errors and how fragile mankind is, how you can crush it in a twitch of your fist and see desolate places. You take his pictures with your DSLR, print them out, commit them to your perfect memory and ever expanding capacity to remember. 

You bring a plate of food- blue pancakes and a toned down version of his Sugar Drink of Death as he looks up from the dog eared books at your bedside. The sun is shining through the blinds, your house smells like coffee and hot batter, cluttered with sketchbooks and random camera gear here and there.

"Morning," He chirps, scooting over on the bed and fluffing the pillows up. Your laptop hums quietly beside him, screen currently on your most recent shoot from Bali.

You sit right next to him, squealing when he pokes your sweatshirt covered stomach. "Stop stop! I bring food!"

You bask in the sunlight that day, exploring a beach near your house you never knew existed and smiling when it's the beach from your memories. The strawberries are in the air, and you wipe dust off your telescope and beckon Percy to try it, pointing it to Neptune.

When asked what the words home and beauty means to you, the former you would have fumbled for an answer, perhaps cross referencing to a few architectural buildings that still stands to this day.

But today?

Today you find out the true meaning of beauty and home. 

It means Percy Jackson. 


End file.
